Red Nail Polish
by parasitic
Summary: Matt's life is not quite right. His job as a video game beta tester is no longer satisfying, and his beautiful car is all scratched up. He thinks a mystery blonde girl is responsible, so when he makes a friend in a waiter he can't resist asking for help.


He was screwed over as soon as he'd written his name on the application - Matthew Jeeves. He'd gritted his teeth and forced a chuckle when the guy at the desk made a crack that they'd just ask him if the game company had any glitches to work out. You know, "Ask Jeeves"? Like he'd never heard that one before. It was the first time he didn't want to pick up a video game controller. All because of this stupid job.

Matt was one of fifty beta testers for the Sword & Shield video game company in LA. He'd only been working the job for six months and he was already sick of it. How was that even possible?! How was it even possible for him to be sick of video games?! He smoothed the crease in the newspaper with the heel of his hand. Checking the classified ads. He was _not_ walking dogs. And he _definitely_ wasn't babysitting. Goddamn puke machines. Beta testing video games was like his dream job. How could he not stand playing video games? Before he got this job, it was all he ever did with his free time. He liked it that way.

He dragged a palm down his face. He couldn't believe he was actually looking for another job. Was this really the right thing to do? Maybe he was just having some kind of... video gamer's block. The waitress called his name, "Matt?" He rolled up the newspaper and stepped up to the counter to get his coffee. He hated that they always asked for his last name at coffee shops and restaurants like this.

Lately he couldn't stand the video games, but that meant he had no idea what to do with his time . He had friends, but that didn't mean he spent time with them. Some of them were people from high school. But most of his day time was usually consumed by the XBox 360 or the PS3, meaning he had no idea what they were up to most of the time. Some of his friends were people he partied with at night, but there was some kind of friend code that said they couldn't hang out unless glowsticks and ecstasy were involved. So, basically... he had no friends. What was he supposed to do?

There was an ad in the corner of the paper for some kind of nightclub. That could be fun. The ad made it look like it was one of those swankier places that had some shit like topless dancers but didn't advertise it in the bold print because that would be crude and demeaning. He liked the idea of that. It sounded so... incognito. He chuckled as he stepped into his car - his red, fast, and recently detailed baby. He only felt like going out sometimes. The rest of the time he was too scared to take the tarp off of it in the apartment parking garage. (At least, that's what he told himself. He didn't actually leave the apartment much in the first place. Hell, it was LA; everyone drove.) He supposed the sad part was that he was too poor to get a real house with a real garage. He himself didn't need it, but it sure would have been nice to not worry about his car getting scratched or stolen. Maybe he could just rent a garage. All to himself. He smirked.

When he pulled into his space, he parked, stretched, and sipped his coffee. (He had the car. Even if he didn't drive it around, he might as well enjoy it.) Life was good. He smiled and sighed. Life was good through orange goggles. He kept them on even though he wasn't driving, just for the pleasure of wearing them a little while longer.

He heard a loud, long scrape that made him jump up. "Fuck!" He opened his door and leaped out of the car. There was a long key scrape across the side of his door. "Shit." He followed the line of the key scrape to the tail end of the car. Some blonde bitch walked off without even noticing. Matt shut the car door and walked off to his apartment in a daze. He'd forgotten his coffee and his newspaper. He'd forgotten to cover his car. It wasn't even worth it anymore. He flopped onto the bed and pushed his hair back. "Fuuuck... Shit... Fuckin' car." He lay back a while, sat up to smoke a few cigarettes, and then fell asleep.

He woke up the next morning at 8:00. It was earlier than he usually got up, but then he also had gone to sleep way too early the previous evening. It seemed as though he had needed the extra few hours sleep, however, because he thought he should have gotten up earlier. Whatever. He wasn't really in the mood for thinking right now, but he couldn't remember why.

Oh. Right. Life was sucking pretty bad right now.

He'd slept so long he was starving. There was nothing in the fridge except cold take-out. No milk, no cereal, no eggs, no ham. He got ready to drive to the grocery store; that way he didn't have to carry anything so far.

But when he reached the car, he had to stop and stare. The scratch was practically gone. What happened? Had that just been a bad dream? It didn't seem right. He walked around the car, looking for scratches. Nothing. Just a little valley where the scratch had been, barely noticeable. It looked as though it had been painted in with a brush. And there was something on the hood of the car.

It was a bottle of red nail polish and a slip of paper. The bottle looked new; the paint hadn't rubbed off or anything, and the bottle was practically full. Matt picked up the paper. It was a note.

"Sorry. My zipper scratched the side of your car yesterday. I used some red nail polish to fix it a bit. You'll probably need to touch it up once in a while, so you can keep the nail polish. I'm sorry I can't give you the $$$ to get it detailed. It's a beautiful car."

Matt smiled fondly. So that blonde girl had noticed, after all. She'd even tried to fix his baby. He mused at the handwriting, trying to figure out what kind of girl this was. The writing was block print, not cursive, and big and bold, not dainty and intricate like most girls'. Somebody who wrote like a man, who owned red nail polish (but was willing to give it up), and blonde? That sounded interesting. And he was always up for learning about something interesting. He looked in the space adjacent to his, as though for the first time. Sitting there was a motorcycle, shimmering black and chrome. Matt's heart gave a little jump. He'd sworn there was a wide, junky old car there yesterday. That was how he'd gotten the scrape. Because the car was so wide and that girl had to squeeze through the space between cars. But _damn_... A motorbike? This was heady stuff. Someone with hair like that and a motorbike... and red nail polish... A dominatrix? It wouldn't have surprised him based on what he knew so far about her. He let out a long breath that he hadn't realized he was holding, and he stepped into his car, staring at the motorcycle as he pulled out of his space.

A week had passed and the motorbike was still in the adjacent parking space every time he pulled out of or into the garage. He was pretty confident that the space belonged to the blonde girl. Which meant that the room next to his had to be hers! Yes!

But then... he realized that there was also a possibility that it was her boyfriend's apartment. Of course. In order to scratch the driver's side of his car, she would have had to get out on the passenger's side of the car next to him. Shit. His whole schema of the blonde girl was falling apart. The motorcycle wasn't hers, it was her boyfriend's. Which meant she probably wasn't a dominatrix. She was probably some kind of average slut who wore red nail polish and drove a beat-up old car. All his courage and the enthusiasm to knock on the door of the apartment next to his seeped from him as though he were a bag of sand that had just been sliced open.

He drove to the Sword & Shield office to turn in some game reviews. He'd been going out a lot more lately since the car scratch incident. Anyway, it gave him a front for going to the parking lot all the time. He was there for no other reason than to drool at that stupid motorbike and the memory of pretty blonde hair. It was downright depressing. (The worst part of it was that any time he wasn't beta-testing games for S&S, he was playing motorcross games, tricking out his bike with classy black paint and sleek chrome pipes...)

It was 8:30 and dark by the time he had the reviews turned in and the paperwork filled out. He was sick and tired of dreaming about pixels and polygons, blonde hair and chrome pipes. Electricity diffused through him and he wanted to do something new. At first, he wasn't sure what it was he wanted to do. He was too used to raves, and he didn't know of any happening tonight, anyway. He wasn't one for going to restaurants or bars. But then he remembered the place from the newspaper. Yes! It was perfect! Surely they had showgirls or something that would take his mind off of the blonde girl. He made up his mind and put the gearshift into drive.

He'd found the old newspaper shoved amongst another stack of game review sheets. "The Soiree", it was called. How chic. He found the address, and - after a quick assessment of his clothing as acceptable and his wallet as sufficient - headed in that direction.

When he reached the building, he immediately surveyed it to be sure that it didn't appear out of range - socially or financially. The building was a nondescript grey brick with no windows. Bland, yet tasteful. THE SOIREE was printed on a black-and-white backlighted sign. Much better than trashy neon lettering, and not as elite as black cut-out steel letters. The place looked all right.

He stepped into the first door - glass - and readied to pay his entry fee. The carpet here was a nice, clean burgundy, and there was a black mat to wipe one's shoes on before entering. The second door was opaque black metal with a chrome knob. He opened the door and peered in. The first thing he noticed was the loud house music that made his head throb for the first few seconds. He had been expecting a desk to pay a fee to be to the left or the right of the door, but there was none. Instead there stood, all around him, an array of trendy black tables and obsidian leather couches, upon which perched young male and female patrons dressed in black and white, jewel tones, and shades of grey. The burgundy carpet continued through the building, but the lighting was a royal blue, giving the carpet a purplish cast in certain places. A fat, white candle sat lit in the center of each square table.

Matt looked about warily until he found a couch and table that were free. When he found it, he sat, thinking that this was surely a unique place. It seemed really swanky, but for the loud techno. Was it a club, or was it a restaurant? A young blonde person in a tuxedo apron and burgundy necktie approached him carrying two books and a pen. He couldn't tell, though, if the person was male or female. The face was soft but ambiguous, with a prominent slender nose and jaw, the hair was cut in a feminine but commanding bob not unlike that of his blonde girl, and the person's body was slim and gently masculine, a curve of waist so slight as to be almost imperceptible. The person smiled, and it was almost - almost - insane. When his mouth opened, Matt was startled by the depth of his voice - definitely a man. Or maybe a transsexual, but that was unlikely, since it lacked that very slight airiness of chemically-tightened vocal chords. When he smiled, his eyes got big, their grey-blueness a little surprising. "Hi, welcome to The Soiree. Is this your first time visiting us?"

Matt tried to curb his confusion. "Um, yeah," he said carefully. "What exactly is this place?"

The feminine man looked even crazier. "A lounge. The Soiree is a new breed of lounge!"

"Sorry, what?"

"The goal of us here at The Soiree is to provide a lounge space to our hip, young clientele. Our approach is a blend of restaurant and nightclub, offering a unique place for young people in the club scene to meet. But the complex is quite new, and we don't have as broad a guest base as we hope for. Word of mouth, you know!"

"Oh." Matt suddenly understood. "Well... Your image is all wrong."

The man froze and stared as though someone were pointing a gun at his forehead. "What do you mean?" he stuttered.

Matt wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. He was scared that the man's eyeballs were about to pop out of their sockets. "I... Based on the ads, and the look of the outside of the building... I honestly thought it might have been a _gentleman's club_. You know... no windows..."

"Oh. I... I hadn't realized. Well..."

Why was he acting so scared? Was this guy's boss abusive or something? Was this secretly some kind of prostitution situation, and the boss was this kid's pimp? Or maybe he was hyped up on drugs? "Um, is there a problem? I don't mean to get you in trouble," Matt said self-consciously.

The blonde jumped. "Oh! No, it's no trouble of mine. But it was my idea that we use this building design, with no windows."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Matt took a little breath of relief. "Well, I guess it's reasonable, what with the lighting. But then why keep the outside so simple?"

"We thought it would be more mysterious and attract more customers. That's the same reason why the ad is so vague. Ambiguity makes people curious."

That made sense. Matt knew where he was coming from. "But that doesn't work for businesses. It only works on people who are naturally curious. People have to know what they're missing. Otherwise you can't expect them to come get some of it."

"Hm." They both were silent, as though in thought. Matt, for one, was thinking about how relieved he was that this was just a simple misunderstanding. "Anyway," said the feminine man, "would you like something to drink, since you're here? I'm sorry to disappoint you." He stood up - When had he sat? - and gave Matt one of the two black books he was holding. It was a menu. He'd been so engaged in conversation that he'd forgotten the man was obviously a waiter.

"Oh. All right. I'm not disappointed." Matt thumbed through the menu, reading the names of all the fancy drinks so quickly it was like his brain just absorbed them.

"Oh?" said the waiter.

"No. I just came here because I wanted something new and interesting, and I found it." Matt smiled, as did the waiter.

"Good, I'm glad you think so. New and interesting is always good."

"And actually, I like the club sort of atmosphere. I'm a rave kind of person occasionally, so this appeals to that part of me. Have you considered installing a dance floor?"

"That could be something." Matt pointed out the drink he'd decided on and handed the menu back to the waiter.

Matt came back to The Soiree the next week. Again, the blonde waiter came to him.

"Hey, Matt," he said. "More new and interesting?"

Matt was surprised that the waiter had remembered him. He even remembered his name, though he'd never introduced himself, just signed his check. "Yeah, life is pretty dull for me right now."

"Oh, I know what you mean. Can I get you the same thing you got last time, or did you want to try something else?"

Matt smiled. "Same thing, please. And I'd like to talk to you again when you're free. I was wondering if you could give me some perspective on a problem I'm having."

"Well, I can't do a lot of talking while I'm on the job, but my shift ends in forty-five minutes."

Matt sipped his drink until the waiter's shift ended. It felt awkward, like he was waiting for a woman to take her on a date. When the time was up, the waiter came and sat down across from Matt, with a chocolate bar open in his hand, and eagerly asked, "So? What's the trouble?"

Matt explained, there was a girl who he thought lived in his apartment building, but she might already have a boyfriend, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to try and approach her or not.

The waiter replied, "I would think you could just ask her. Is it just because you'll be embarrassed if she has a boyfriend?"

"But what if it's her _boyfriend's_ apartment?"

The waiter shrugged nonchalantly. "Just have an escape plan." His hands were folded on the table, and Matt noticed that there were the remnants of black polish flecked around his nails.

Matt stared uncertainly. "Escape plan?"

"Yeah, like... you got the wrong apartment, or you're selling fundraiser candy, or that sort of thing."

Matt chuckled. "That's stupid," he said with a grin. "But the 'wrong apartment' thing could work."

Matt thanked the waiter for his time, and the waiter scribbled his cell phone number onto a slip of paper underneath the word "MELLO", telling him that he should call if he needed more advice.

"Mello? That's a weird name," Matt said to himself as he left the building. As he got into his car, he saw Mello slide on a helmet and ride off on a motorcycle.

Three days later, on Tuesday, Matt called Mello to meet him at the coffee shop near the Sword & Shield building. Matt took a table in front of the window so that Mello would see him, planning to wait until he'd arrived before he ordered anything so he wouldn't have to leave the table and risk missing the other man. Mello waved when he came to the window wearing biking leathers, and opened the door to enter.

"Did you make your move yet?" the blonde asked Matt enthusiastically.

Matt sighed sardonically, "No, I haven't. But I'm working up the courage." Mello laughed.

The two got up to place their orders. Matt came back with a hot mocha, while Mello plopped down a cocoa and a chocolate bar. Matt laughed.

"What?" Mello chuckled. "I like chocolate, okay?" They slurped at their drinks. "This is a nice place."

"I usually come here after I drop off my paperwork at the office. I work for Sword & Shield Games," Matt explained, pointing out the window toward the building. "I like meeting you at The Soiree, but as much as we've been talking, I figured someplace a little quieter would be nice. Thanks for coming."

"No problem," Mello laughed. "To tell you the truth, I don't know the first thing about games."

"I'm not sure I believe that," Matt said with a leer. "You'd be good. I can tell. I can sense your inner gamer."

Another laugh. He thought he needed to make Mello laugh more often. It just seemed so natural. "You like your job? You like games?"

"Not right now, and yes."

"In that order?" Mello scoffed.

"Okay, I love games, and that's why I took the job. But S&S is a really shitty company. All their technology is outdated, and they only make medieval fantasy games. Nothing's original. They can't compete with the leading companies."

"Sounds like shit." Mello smirked, and it looked positively wicked.

"That's not the half of it," Matt persisted. "I can't even play anymore! I don't know why. I just don't enjoy it like I used to."

"Overjustification."

The word was out before Matt knew what hit him. "What?"

"Overjustification is the change to extrinsic motivators from intrinsic motivation for performing an action," Mello explained matter-of-factly. "You used to love playing video games, but now that you get paid to do it, it's not fun anymore."

Matt stared. Mello unwrapped his chocolate bar and began to lick it like a popsicle. Matt blinked and cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable. "Well, I guess that makes sense. How'd you know that?"

"I'm a psychology major," Mello replied proudly.

Well. That could be dangerous. Especially since Mello licking the chocolate bar somehow-or-other reminded him of his dominatrix blonde girl and it was getting pretty damn hot in here. He blamed the coffee. "That's impressive," he admitted, although he wasn't quite sure what he was talking about. "Actually, that's a little embarrassing. I only graduated high school."

"Oh, no way. I respect you for finishing," said Mello quite seriously. "I dropped out as soon as I could. Then I got my GED. Couldn't stand high school."

Matt laughed. "You're joking!"

Mello shook his head, causing strings of straw-colored hair to swing about his face. "Nope. Went straight to college."

Matt was surprised. "Wait. How old are you?"

Mello tried to look innocent and failed. "I'm twenty-three."

"But I'm twenty-two! That means you've been in college for... seven years?!"

"I'm triple-majoring."

Matt jumped up. "No way!" Mello tensed, but Matt didn't notice. "Seriously?" He sat back down as Mello nodded.

"In religion and gender studies, too. Don't ask what kind of job that's gonna get me, because I sure as hell don't know."

"Well, you could be a therapist for GLBTs who have religious concerns. I'm sure that's not so uncommon."

They discussed jobs and school and games until Matt brought up Mello's name. "Hey, I didn't know your name 'til you gave me your number, so of course I wish I could have asked you sooner; why Mello?"

Mello laughed. "It's kind of a joke, really. My real name's Mihael, but I got sick of people mispronouncing it, or calling me Mike or Michael, so I asked my friends to give me a nickname. They came up with Mello just because it's the opposite of what I am, and it stuck."

"You're not mellow? Should I be careful?"

"Let's just say when I'm mad, I'm mad, and when I'm happy, people around me question my mental stability," Mello laughed.

"Then I won't get you mad."

"How about you? Got any weird stories to share? Secret identities?"

Matt grinned. "My last name is Jeeves," he confided. "People like to make butler jokes."

Mello laughed loudly. His smile showed all his teeth. "Maybe you should try waiting tables at The Soiree!"

"Yeah, right," Matt snorted unhappily.

"I'm sorry," Mello giggled. "Couldn't help it."

The afternoon wore on, and Mello continued encouraging Matt to talk to the girl. They parted ways, Matt feeling empowered to go to her door as soon as he could.

Matt attempted to fix his hair and wiped his hands on his jeans before rapping on the door. He would just say hi, introduce himself, ask if she was the one who'd fixed the scratch on his car, thank her, maybe she'd like to go for a drive? If it was the boyfriend, then he had the wrong apartment.

His heart leaped as the lock squeaked and the latch clicked. The door cracked open, and Mello stood on the opposite side of the entryway.

Fuck.

Mello stared, apparently in shock. Matt didn't realize that he was staring, too, until he discovered that he had nothing to say, except, "... Hi."

Mello swallowed. "Matt," he said, lips parting slowly. His mouth was suddenly quite dry. "I'm the girl, huh?"

"S-sorry..." Matt blushed. It was kind of cute.

"Okay. I'll see you later, then."

"Yeah."

Matt looked in a daze. Mello slowly shut the door until the latch clicked and he slid the lock shut. He held his breath as he looked through the peephole in the door and watched Matt turn and stumble away. When he felt he was safe again, Mello exhaled the breath and slumped against the door.

Mello was the girl. What the fuck. Well, it wasn't the first time something like that had happened. People mistook him for a girl all the time. But usually his voice gave it away.

But Matt hadn't heard his voice. All he knew was that someone scratched his car and left nail polish for him to fix it. Men didn't wear nail polish. At least not _red_ nail polish. But that was why he gave it to Matt. He wore _black_ nail polish, not red, and the red had come in a set along with the black nail polish. Since he didn't wear it, he gave it to Matt. Mello hadn't signed the note, either, so he couldn't have known that Mello and "the girl" were one and the same. Mello thought briefly about getting his hair cut or cutting it himself, but he decided against it. He couldn't be bothered to change.

He found a chocolate bar and nibbled at a square. What if Matt hated him now? They were just acquaintances, but Mello felt like he'd known the man for years. He was the only person Mello could _really_ talk to, really have a conversation with. They learned from one another and argued different perspectives. Mello hadn't realized before how important that was to him. It wasn't just Matt's intellect. Somehow they were already friends.

But Matt wanted to talk to him about this girl. And since Mello was really the girl, there was nothing to talk about now, was there? Would Matt forget about him? Or would he keep visiting him at The Soiree? Would they see one another in the hallway, or the parking lot? Or would Matt avoid him and ignore him entirely? Mello's heart sank. Was Matt really his first friend?

The next morning, Mello woke to a knock on the door. He rolled off the couch, noting that he was still clothed, and tried to remember why he'd gone to sleep like that. He finger-combed his hair and stumbled to the door to answer it. It was Matt. He remembered why he'd fallen asleep on the couch with his clothes on. "... Hi." His voice came out groggy and cracked. It felt like a repeat of yesterday.

Matt was staring numbly again. "Hey," he said in a low voice, "I wanted to let you know I'm sorry about all this." All _this_; Mello realized that Matt had been thinking about it all evening the same way he had. It was all laid bare before him. Between them.

Mello nodded. "Okay..." He stepped back to offer Matt permission to come in. Matt just stood there. Mello wasn't sure he wanted Matt that close to him right then anyway. "I'm sorry you didn't get the girl," Mello said, forcing a smirk. Matt's shoulders slumped.

"Yeah." His stare shifted to the place where the baseboards met the doorframe. Mello started to turn away. "Hey," said Matt suddenly. Mello looked him in the eyes. "Can I still call you?" When Mello gave him a little smile, it was real. He nodded. "Okay." The corners of Matt's mouth lifted, just a tiny bit. "Bye."

Mello shut the door.

It was still another week before either of them called the other. During that time, Mello never saw Matt at The Soiree or in the apartment building or parking complex. Chocolate bars were lasting him less than a quarter of the time they normally did; usually he nursed them over a long period of time while he studied, but now he was nervous-eating. Finally, at the end of that week, Matt called him. He wanted to meet in the parking complex.

"But... What?"

"Just come down here," he said with laughter in his voice before he hung up. Mello took up his leather jacket and checked the clock. It was 8 PM on a Saturday. He hoped Matt didn't want to go to a restaurant, because it would be busy.

Matt was wearing motor goggles with orange lenses that obscured the blue of his eyes, but also somehow suited him, leaning up against the side of his covered car. "What?" Mello demanded.

Matt grinned, looking like a Cheshire cat with all those stripes. "My car or your bike?"

Matt whooped as they flew down the road toward their first stop, his arms tightly around Mello's waist. He felt a little wobbly when they finally stopped at the bookstore. Mello put down the stand with a mechanical clank and took the key from the ignition to put it in the pocket of his jacket. The sudden absence of noise was like a vacuum in Matt's ears, and for a while he thought it really was silent. But slowly he began to hear the sound of moving cars and people again, and he was only then able to get his footing. He pulled his goggles down around his neck, and that also seemed to help his balance. It was like waking up, or like seeing the world through new and fresh eyes. He looked up and saw Mello staring curiously at him. For some reason, Mello was really pretty today. Matt blinked, surprised at himself.

"So?" Mello questioned. "What did you want here?"

Matt noticed Mello's helmet under his arm, and he realized he'd taken it off while Matt was still re-orienting himself. Matt was impressed, but then Mello was used to this. He mumbled, "Let's go inside."

When they entered, Matt casually started toward the non-fiction section. Mello followed him until he slowed down in front of the sign that said "PSYCHOLOGY". Mello pointed out a book and said proudly, "I have this one." It was a huge, hardcover textbook.

Matt picked it up - thing must have weighed twenty pounds - and flipped through. There were a few pictures, ranging from comic strips to shocking photographs of animal experimentation. Matt felt a little nauseated and began to crave a cigarette. "What's your favorite section?" he asked.

Mello frowned. "I dunno. I like a lot of it. My other majors stem from psych and sosh, but actually the reason I took psych in the first place wasn't either one of those. I wanted to learn criminal psychology."

Matt was surprised. "Really?" he said. "That doesn't sound like you, for some reason."

Mello nodded. "Maybe not. But all my life I wanted to be a detective. And my highschool government class was a lot of fun. I learned a lot about law. And I took a psych class in highschool specifically to learn about criminal psych, but I enjoyed it all too much to limit myself."

Matt was fascinated by Mello's intellectual journey. He stopped him, however, when he started to seem rushed. "What's wrong? We've got plenty of time."

Mello gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look. "Well, I... Aren't we here to get you a book?" He smirked. "Or are we just here so you can listen to me ramble?"

Matt smiled. "When did you figure it out?"

Mello's eyes closed in peace. "Oh, about the time you slowed down here. But I wasn't sure you were smart enough to come up with that kind of strategy." Matt "humph"-ed, but his face flushed. "But I'm flattered that you wanted to listen to me."

The brunette forced a chuckle and looked away. He really didn't mean it that way. (What way was that?) Mello was just an interesting person and Matt enjoyed being friends with him. He spoke up, "Mello?"

"Yeah?" Matt was still holding the book open in his arms, so Mello took it from him and closed it.

"Are we friends?" Mello looked up at him, seeming astonished. "I mean... do you want to be friends?"

Instead of surprise, suddenly Mello was angry. Perhaps angrier than Matt had ever seen another person. His glare was piercing. In a controlled voice, Mello ground out, "I can't believe you just asked me that." He was mad because he was so happy that they were friends. If Matt had to ask, then he had doubts. If he had doubts, then... then maybe they weren't friends, after all. "Of course we're friends. Aren't we?"

"Mello, are you okay?" He had gotten mad. What had he done? Was Matt so fragile as to be upset - no - Was Mello so fragile as to be angry? Were they no more than paper in the hands of God? Mello felt so breakable. And that was why he was mad. He was mad that their tenuous friendship had not strengthened. Matt's voice drifted to him on a tendril of kindness. "What's wrong?"

Mello took a deep breath and looked down at the toes of his combat boots. "Nothing's wrong, Matt. I'm sorry."

"Hey." Mello looked at him when Matt touched his arm. "I'll buy ya a hot chocolate." Mello nodded. "But you have to tell me about gender studies first."

They talked over coffee and cocoa, both completely engaged. It was refreshing to both of them to have someone to teach, someone to learn from.

"I always thought it was funny to watch the other kids separate between girls and boys. Because, really, male and female aren't so different. Physiologically, we are all remarkably similar."

Matt was enthralled by Mello's little mannerisms. He took them in and watched the blonde even as he listened to every word and intonation. He seemed to never eat a bar of chocolate in the same way twice. Even now, he exhibited a myriad of methods to consuming a cup of hot cocoa. First he took the cap off and slurped off the top layer of froth and whipped cream, then he spooned it into his mouth a few times, then he sipped it, slurped it, put the cap back on and took a few long swallows, took the cap back off and sipped it again, put on chocolate sprinkles and ate it with a spoon; on and on until the cup was finally gone. No matter how you drank a cup of hot chocolate, the end result was always the same: You found yourself with an empty cup, with a little bit of froth stuck to the inside. Sometimes Mello's hair got a bit of the beverage on it, and he either wiped it off with a napkin or, once in a while, stuck it in his mouth. When he leaned to one side, his hair covered his face just so...

This was getting ridiculous, Matt decided, and tried to stop watching Mello's hair.

Hair. That was why he kept his hair like that. Because male and female aren't different. And he used that ambiguity to the advantage of The Soiree, too. Or at least he tried.

There was a lull in the conversation, so Matt asked him, "Why did you have the red nail polish? Sorry. Just curious. Thanks for it, by the way. I'm sorry I didn't say so earlier."

The almost-non-sequitur caught Mello off-guard. Matt's mind truly worked in interesting ways. "Oh. Well, sometimes when I go out, I wear black nail polish. Last time I ran out, I went to get more, but the only black polish came with red, too. I didn't want it, so when I scratched your car - which I'm sorry for, while we're on the subject - I gave it to you. I don't know anything about cars, but I thought that might help at least a little."

"When you go out... Where's that?"

"There's a goth club I go to sometimes. I don't really have any reason to, but I like to -" he made air quotations, "'dress up' when I go."

Matt smiled. "Yeah. I do the same thing at raves."

Mello interrupted, "Hey, when you thought I was a girl, what made you think I had a boyfriend?" Matt explained that the day Mello had scratched his car, there was a black car in the adjacent parking space and he'd exited on the passenger's side, so he'd assumed it was someone else's car. But after that day, the motorcycle had taken its place. "Oh, I get it! The bike was in the shop," Mello responded, "so I had someone take me home and back to the shop. It's their car. You must have seen it when he came to pick me up to get the bike."

"But I saw your hair as you left the car."

"I ran back because I forgot my wallet."

Matt's eyes narrowed skeptically. "But then why didn't I see you again on the way to my apartment?"

"I take the stairs," Mello answered simply.

Somehow, that cleared up everything. He hadn't even taken the stairs once since he'd moved in. Matt blinked. "Oh."

"Matt, why aren't you in college?"

"Huh? Why should I be?"

"I know you're smart." Mello's stare was hard and dark.

Matt made a swirling gesture with one hand, rolling his wrist. "School's no fun for me," he explained. "Never has been. Nothing but jumping through hoops. Anyway, I knew I wanted to be a beta-tester. You don't go to college for that. There's no place that offers degrees in playing video games. How would you know if I'm smart?"

Mello leaned in closer. "Because _you're_ the only person I've met who can keep up with me."

"Then how do you know if _you're_ smart?" Matt's expression sparked in a challenge.

The blonde smirked. "Same reason. And because the I.Q. tests say so."

"_Why_ are you so smart?"

"Because I always have been. And because I work for it."

"... Why?"

Mello crossed his arms and leaned back. He was withdrawing. "I can't tell you that yet, Matt. I'm sorry."

Matt leaned his chin on one hand. "Okay," he said, "I'll accept that." He took a sip of coffee. "... Will you tell me after a night at that goth club?"

"Pff," Mello scoffed. "More new and interesting?"

"You know it, genius."

"Maybe. But first I need to change clothes."

They went to their respective apartments, and while Mello did who-knows-what, Matt was changing into his boots. Mello had left his door open for Matt, so when he was done strapping up, he locked his door and entered Mello's apartment.

Dear God, were there books. Stacks and stacks of books lined Mello's walls and piled on his tables. Books about psychology, philosophy, religion, criminal justice, everything. No wonder Mello was so smart. Matt sat down on the hideous zebra-print sofa beneath a crucifix (bloody Jesus and all). When was the last time Matt had been in someone else's home? Longer past than he'd had someone else at his place, that was for sure. The bedroom door clicked open, and Matt automatically turned in expectation.

Sweet Jesus Christ. Matt wasn't particularly religious, but, man, he was sitting under a crucifix and he felt like praying for forgiveness for a sin he hadn't even committed. Mello was standing there in leather and fur and skin and Matt almost forgot that Mello was _not_ that dominatrix that Matt thought he was before they'd met. He was smiling down at Matt with black kohl-rimmed eyes. "All you did was change your boots!"

Matt felt pinned by those icy blues in a face framed by golden fringe and black fur. Or, at least, he hoped that was what he was feeling, because if it wasn't, then he _wanted_ to be pinned. He stood up and defensively started for the door. "It's warm," he said dreamily, then wondered why he'd said it.

"You're right," Mello agreed. "I don't need my coat."

So when Mello returned, prepared to leave, he was showing his arms (supple, yet muscular, compared to his own sinewy ones) as well as his stomach, and just a "V" of his chest and throat, bordered by a red-and-white rosary that matched the one around his wrist. Although Mello seemed skinny before, now Matt could plainly see that the collegiate was slender and toned.

Matt decided he really didn't want to ride on the back of Mello's motorcycle when he was dressed like that, so he suggested taking his car this time instead, justifying with an, "It's late. The bike will be too loud."

Mello shrugged. "I do it all the time, but if it makes you feel more comfortable..." Matt had trouble looking at Mello past his point-toed shoes. "Are you sick, Matt?"

Matt shook his head. "I'm okay, I'm okay."

"We don't have to go, if you don't feel up to it."

"No, I'm fine."

_They took the stairway back to their apartments after they returned from the club. They hadn't yet reached their floor when Mello turned to Matt and kissed him. It was hard and deep and slow and all kinds of sexy. Matt groaned and ran a hand into Mello's hair to steady himself as the older man pushed him against the wall. There was touching, and Matt gasped for breath as their lips slid together and apart. The last thing he remembered was the echo-feeling of release as the stairs dug into his back..._

Matt woke up quite unwillingly to find himself in his bed, the sheets twisted around his legs and his thighs feeing warm and damp. Shit. He'd had a wet dream over Mello. _Damn._ He couldn't go back to sleep like that, despite his tiredness, so he got out of bed, tossed off the sheets, and took a warm shower. He'd heard about this kind of thing happening, but had he ever actually had a wet dream before? The only time he could recall was in high school, and he remembered not even knowing why that dream in particular was a wet dream. It was just pent-up hormones. Was this the result of meaningless hormones acting out on him in his sleep, too? No, because he was perfectly aware of how hot Mello looked yesterday. So did that mean he wanted Mello to kiss him? To make out with him on the stairwell?

Mello sat on his bed, hands clasped in prayer. His voice was soft, but frantic. "Deliver me from temptation, deliver me from temptation... Forgive me, father..." He kept repeating the same mantra, as if trying to simultaneously drown out both the sound of the shower in the next room and the images of a dripping-wet naked Matt engulfed in steam. It was perfectly normal, Mello reminded himself, for a person to experience a religious revival after realizing feelings for someone of the same sex. And denial was normal, too. So, even though he knew it was ridiculous to try and fight it, and he was probably hopelessly in love with his newfound friend, he couldn't stop himself from half-heartedly rejecting the idea. It was only natural.

Although Matt didn't seem to think much of his experience, Mello found himself avoiding the brunette any time he was outside of his apartment. He realized it was stupid and would only widen the chasm that Mello wanted so desperately to close, but he couldn't help himself. Still, he wanted to see Matt. It was too dull without him; going to school and going to work was just too routine, despite the fact that he used to find these things interesting and even fun. But he knew that there was no way he could have a conversation with Matt when he was too busy thinking about jumping him, and he dreaded that feeling. The gamer was just too cute, in a nerdy kind of way, and he was so well-built... This was going too far. And yet he couldn't stop himself.

Only a few days later, work was driving him stir-crazy. He started plotting ways to quit, ways to get fired, ways to destroy the place, anything and everything. But if he did something like that, he would have to find another way to fund his schooling, and it wouldn't just be his pay from the lounge that he would have to replace. Most of the money came straight from Rod and from his trust fund. The trust fund, though originally well-substantiated, after seven years of schooling had reduced to the bare essentials. It would pay for the apartment and food, but it wasn't enough for tuition, and it hadn't been for a couple years now. Which meant that whatever happened, he had to stay in good standing with Rod until he could get a real job.

He was going to need Matt's help.

There was a text message on Matt's phone when he turned it on the next day: "MATT - Come over when u can. Need ur help." A sense of dread fell over Matt. Was Mello injured? Was he sick? He hadn't seen the man in almost a week. If he couldn't leave the apartment, then that made sense. He knocked politely on Mello's door, though his fear made him want to knock the barrier down with all the strength he had. When Mello opened the door for him, Matt quickly looked him up and down, assessing any damage. He looked fine, although the bagginess of his casual clothes made him appear petite. "What's wrong?" Matt asked, frantic.

Mello drawled, "Work is boring. I want out."

Matt's expression sank. "What?" That was nothing compared to the disaster he'd anticipated. "So quit!"

"I can't! I need the money from my boss!"

"Whaddaya mean, you need the money from your boss? You quit, and you stop getting paid. Get a new job!"

Mello sighed and plopped down onto the couch, the only seating in the apartment. His words were muffled by his hands covering his face. "I mean the tuition money. My boss gives me extra under the table."

Well, that was a surprise. Matt sighed and sat down next to the blonde. "Why?" he asked, confused. How cute.

"Any number of reasons. I'm a business partner, he wants to encourage my studies, I'm an investment, I'm like a son to him; shit like that. I don't put any real stock in any of it, but I take the money. If I quit, I'm not a business partner anymore, right? So I lose the funding. No more school."

"You can't quit school now! You're so close!"

Mello tried not to jump on him and scream, "I'm not quitting school, you hot, stupid idiot!" Instead, he said aloud, "That's why, when I quit work, I need to keep getting the money. But I need your help to do it."

Matt stared at him. "What? How am I supposed to help? I can't give you all that money."

Mello laid his hand on Matt's knee and raised the opposite index finger as though to indicate his point, that Matt should listen carefully. Matt shied from the hand on his knee, but he tried not to make his distraction known. "Here's my plan, Matt."

After their discussion, Mello had to head to class and then to work immediately after. Matt casually made his way to the lounge around 7:00. Mello was cleaning the bar. Matt was brought a bottle of water and he watched as Mello finished up and then walked into the back.

"Hey!" said the blonde waiter gleefully. "One of my favorite customers is here, Rod! I'm gonna do a trick! Come out here; I want you to see this!"

Mello cast a stream of oil across the stone laminate bar. This was a textbook chemistry trick. There was only one problem: After Mello set fire to the oil, the alcohol all around the bar would catch fire, too. It might even burn down the building, if he wasn't careful. All according to plan.

Matt bit back the urge to stop Mello. A broad hulk of a man with a bald head exited from the rear of the lounge. He was grinning at Mello like his pride and joy - or at least like his brainiest moneymaker. Matt sighed to himself in dissatisfaction; he could bet that man went to the gym so much it was obscene. No wonder Mello was nervous.

Matt's pulse was pounding in his ears when Mello's expression skipped from joyful to manic. As he struck a match, the speed of time seemed to slow. The fire blazed above him.

Above him? Matt hadn't even realized that he'd dove at Mello, knocking him down onto the floor under the bar. Mello was snarling and punching at Matt's shoulders and back. "What do you think you're doing, you asshole?" Mello spat. A bottle popped, and as the flames surged, glass rained down on them. Matt understood that they had to get out. He pulled Mello up and rushed him out, shielding him with his body. As they left through a back exit, someone sprayed the bar with a fire extinguisher.

"What's wrong with you?!" Mello screamed. "All I ask is for your cooperation, and you screw it all up!"

Matt released the feral man, letting him twist away and punch at his arms. "You're crazy!" he yelled back. "Letting yourself get third-degree burns? For tuition money? You're insane!"

"I was just trying to - !"

"First and foremost, you need to protect yourself! I'm not gonna let you kill yourself over some goddamn tuition money!"

"I know what I'm doing! You don't have to -"

"I want to!" Matt's voice pierced the chill of the night, their heavy breath releasing steam into the air between them.

The door opened, and Rod poked out his bald, little head. "Mello," he said. "Go on home and get yourself patched up. That was some scare. You look like you've had enough for the night."

Mello stared at him and slowly nodded. It was getting colder now that he wasn't trying to kill Matt.

Matt took the normal route home, a little shell-shocked. Mello motored around town just to burn off the energy and stress. When he returned to the apartment complex, he banged his fist hard on Matt's door. He stormed in the door as soon as it was open and threw himself into a chair.

"Hi," said Matt, though by now the greeting seemed unnecessary, then shut and locked the door.

"Matt," Mello began in a calm and even tone, "I appreciate you looking out for me."

"Sure," replied the brunette. His shirt was off, and he was holding a damp washcloth spotted with red. His bare torso was speckled with scrapes. He noticed Mello staring and he said, "Stings a little. But the alcohol sanitized it."

"I'm sorry." The blonde's eyes were still fixed on Matt.

"I'm not," retorted Matt with a smirk.

Mello sighed and stood up in front of the bed. "Matt, come here." Matt stood across from him and next to the piece of furniture. He hadn't been anticipating it when Mello struck him across the jaw, knocking him to the bed. The blonde smirked coyly down at Matt beneath him. "That's for not following the plan." Matt awkwardly climbed off. Mello smacked his rear as he passed.

Matt was readying to throw a return punch - he'd had enough of Mello's shit for one day - and shot him a glare, but Mello's nearly-innocent grin tore down his defenses. "Mello," Matt grumbled. He bent down to pick up the dropped towel. He shook his head and threw the cloth into the trash, then washed his hands and sprayed the floor with disinfectant.

Mello teased, "What's wrong, Matty?"

Matt pivoted; he was livid. "You're a joke!" he yelled. "You only care about yourself! You don't give a damn about how anyone else feels! When you dress, you want people to look at you; when you try to pull dangerous shit, you only do it for money; you're smacking me around right now!"

Mello sat down, his eyes narrowed in Matt's direction. His voice was cold and distant. "That's not true, Matt."

"Hit me again and _tell_ me it isn't true!"

"Matt." Mello's dark voice compelled him to look. "Do what you want."

Matt had to stop and stare. When had Mello stopped ordering him around? Or was he doing it now? "What?"

"Take things your way, for once." He was insistent, both cool and warm simultaneously. "I want you to feel satisfied with your life. I want you to have your new and interesting."

Matt sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Mello. They held eye contact. Matt's voice emerged from his throat without his really meaning to, before he had too long to think about what he was going to say, only to decide to say nothing at all. "I want _you_, Mello."

Mello was surprised, but pleasantly so. How intriguing. His eyes were dangerous, and Matt liked it despite himself. "So come and get it." Matt watched him. Not a flinch. Mello was serious.

Matt leaned in and kissed him. Mello pulled Matt closer, and Matt felt insecure of himself for just a moment. It was terrifying, and it was nothing like that mysterious famed first-kiss fireworks display, because that was something out of fantasy, but it was the most satisfied Matt could remember ever feeling in his life. As soon as Mello deepened the kiss, however, probing at Matt's mouth with his tongue, he was starving for more experience. He turned his body until they fully faced each other, straddling Mello on his knees. While Mello was normally slightly taller than Matt, their current position gave Matt a height advantage, which he quite enjoyed, bending Mello's head back against the kiss. But Mello broke away to take the offensive and drag his lips and teeth down Matt's neck and his hands down his chest. Matt groaned softly and tried to kiss any part of Mello he could reach. His heart was pounding in his chest. Matt was overjoyed that Mello reciprocated his feelings, but he didn't have time to be happy, because all he wanted was Mello, and Mello was in front of him right now.

Mello kissed lower and lower until he had to push Matt backward. Matt reveled in the touch of lips and tongue along his ribs and stomach, but he gave a yelp of surprise when Mello suddenly moved up to bite a nipple. Mello then sucked and licked at it apologetically, and Matt had to moan in delight. He vaguely felt Mello smirk as he continued leaving love-marks all over the brunette's scraped torso. Matt lost his head in all of it; it felt so good and so relaxing. His reverie was broken once more when a pain shot up his body, and he winced. Mello was biting along one of his scrapes. He glanced down and saw a tiny bit of blood well on the surface of his skin. The blonde undid Matt's fly as he licked up the blood and kissed the scrape tenderly. "_Unh_..." Matt's eyes glided closed and a soft security cradled him. Rational thought told him to stay alert, so why was his body accepting this unnecessary pain?

Mello stripped him slowly while continuing to alternately administer pain and comfort. When he pressed on a bruise and saw the gamer's erection twitch, he smirked and whispered, "I knew it."

Then Matt figured it out. _What the hell? I'm a masochist?_ He felt his breath catch in his throat. Fuck, he'd never been more scared. Mello bordered on psychotic, and he was at this man's mercy... At the same time, it was really hot. (He _had_ thought Mello was a sexy dominatrix, after all.)

"Don't worry," said Mello in a voice that was somehow both consoling and just plain evil. "I'll go easy on you." His eyes sparkled down at Matt, and Matt's heart gave a particularly convincing thud. At that moment, he knew that he didn't have much choice in this matter. He wanted Mello so bad he would go through the pain and he would enjoy every moment. Somehow.

When Mello cast his garments aside, Matt didn't even want to look down, despite his curiosity. He knew that if he looked, he'd get spooked by the size and he'd be so frightened he might just faint. It didn't matter how big it was; it was gonna happen._ Oh, God... Oh, shit... Lube!_ Matt mustered up as much conscious motor ability as he could and said, "Mello... Lube in the drawer."

"I know," said Mello, a grin in his voice. Terror rushed through Matt for an instant. He wasn't going to use it? How did this work again? But Mello stopped his thoughts to say reassuringly, "I got it."

"Oh." Relief washed over him. "Okay." His peace was interrupted when he felt a slimy finger pressing as his entrance. Without thinking, he sucked in a breath and held it.

"Relax, you idiot," said Mello in a low voice. Why was that voice sexy, even when it was insulting him? "You have to relax."

Matt tried, he really did, but as Mello entered with the first finger, he knew he wasn't really doing a great job. It didn't so much hurt as just that it was uncomfortable. "Sorry," he said, though it was somewhat unnecessary.

"Don't be. It's your first time; I can't expect you to be an expert." Matt had to wonder: was it Mello's? Or had he done this before? Matt felt a little sting that sort of ran up his body and then dissipated somewhere around his navel as the second finger entered. He hissed, and suddenly Mello's other hand was around his member, stroking slowly. Matt let out a long moan in response. He was numb to the pain.

But then Mello removed his fingers, and Matt received the slight sting once more. He sighed, surprised by how empty he suddenly felt.

Mello wondered if he should tell Matt when he was going to enter him. It would make him feel safer if he knew what was happening each step of the way, but on the other hand, since Matt was evidently a little skittish, Mello thought that if he warned Matt, the gamer would only tighten up and resist more. He didn't want to scare Matt and make this the end of a perfectly good relationship. On the short term... Matt would probably respond positively to the surprise approach, and they could worry about maintaining the relationship _after_ the hot sex. That plan sounded good.

Mello lubed up, kissed Matt deep on the lips, and pressed in very slowly. "_God_, you're fuckin' tight," Mello lamented, and gave way to panting. They both released hisses and growls of anguish. Mello was being squeezed relentlessly. He almost dropped his emotional attachment to Matt and outright decided he wanted to keep up the relationship if only so he could avoid ever having to screw a virgin again. Even so, he couldn't just stop and pull out of this now. He was _in love_. How could he possibly have kept away from this man for an entire week?

Meanwhile, Matt was having his own problems. He felt like he was being helplessly pulled apart from the inside. He couldn't even think except for wondering if Mello was really as big as he felt, which he had known was going to happen anyway. But despite the pain that he thought he might never escape, and that he was clawing at the blanket beneath him, he realized he was hard, although that was pretty painful as well. Once Mello was fully inside, he stopped so they both could get some much-deserved breathing.

Then Mello moved. _Ouch_, it felt like things were coming unglued, and then he was loose, and then _ow, ow,_ he pressed in again, agonizingly slow... Matt hadn't even realized he was biting his lip and whimpering until Mello kissed him again, moaning desperately. Then Mello's angle changed ever so slightly, and Matt gasped, filling his lungs to the brim. Pleasure flowed up his body, and his breath deteriorated into shuddering groans. Mello, too, was starting to feel weak-kneed. He kissed and mouthed Matt's throat as Matt's head leaned back, and breathy little moans escaped him.

For several minutes, it went on like this, shivering breaths and shaking bodies, the pleasure mounting slowly, slowly... Then it was like the sea breaking over a rock on the shore, Mello's nails dug into Matt's shoulderblades, and _Why does that feel so good?_ and "Oh my God, _Ma-att!_" and Matt's body arced upward and Mello felt his toes curl, and then everything went white and pure and perfect and _amazing_.

Matt's breathing slowed dramatically as every muscle in his body relaxed - he thought - more than ever before. His eyes were closed and the spell of sleep was quickly cast and tugging at his mind. Mello pulled the blankets up over his shoulders and snuggled into Matt's side, enveloping them both in warmth. Mello's breath tickled his neck. "Matty," said Mello softly. Matt gave a gentle groan in response. "The reason why I work so hard is a boy who was in my high school class." He paused to clear his throat. "Now he's seventeen. He's been through college. He's the best. He always has been. I want to be better than he is."

Matt's deep blue eyes cracked open. He had one hand in Mello's hair, playing with it idly. "Maybe you're trying too hard, Mello." Mello hugged him. Matt felt a little wetness spill down the side of Mello's face and his own chest.

"Matt." Mello wiped away the wetness. "Go to sleep."

Matt woke first. His arm was completely numb. He was warm, but there was air moving across the center of his chest. He looked down and saw Mello's golden hair spilled across his own alabaster skin, and he realized it was Mello's body cutting off his circulation. Very carefully, he held Mello's head and turned toward him onto his side until his arm was free. Then, he moved himself downward so that their faces were level. He moved the pillow under their heads, watching strands of Mello's hair blow back and forth in his own breath. In sleep, Mello was an angel. Matt couldn't imagine such a pretty face marred by burnt flesh. Studying the minute details of Mello's face helped him to ignore the uncomfortable tingling of his arm and the craving for nicotine. In time, though, his arm felt better, and he longed to hear Mello's voice, be bathed in his intellect and beautiful eyes. He kissed Mello's cheek and held his hand until finally he woke.

"Mm... Leave me alone," Mello protested, and curled himself closer to Matt. The gamer smiled and rose for a cigarette. Mello grumbled again at the loss of warmth. After lighting up, Matt pattered around the kitchen until he found what he was looking for. He placed a chocolate at the head of the bed and then fired up the XBox.

When Mello finally woke up, it was out of annoyance at the irritating game music. He peeked out from under the covers and, upon noticing the chocolate, snatched it and dove back under the comforter. Ten minutes later, Matt heard his name being called by the muffled blonde. He paused his game and slunk back under the covers. "Matt," said Mello, "I'm sorry about yesterday. Really." Matt just wrapped his arms around him and kissed his forehead.

They stayed in Matt's apartment that day, except when Mello needed something, like chocolate or a change of clothes, and then he simply went next door. It was an odd feeling, though - like moving miles away from a lover, and Mello didn't like it. It was just plain uncomfortable. He hoped that sometime soon he could get Matt to stay in his apartment instead of the other way around. Maybe then it would feel more like home.

When he returned to Matt's apartment with a small knapsack and a handful of chocolate bars, he dropped the things on the table and wrapped his arms around Matt's shoulders in the middle of his game to kiss him. Matt dropped the controller and let his car careen into a circle of little digital police cars. This was way better than a police chase, and for Mello...

It was worth it.

"I like this," said Matt, without really thinking about it or intending to say it to anyone in particular.

"What do you like?" Mello questioned from the foot of the bed. He was holding one of the books he'd brought above him as he read it. Half a chocolate bar was jutting up from his mouth.

Matt hit the START button to pause the game and turned toward the bed. "I like staying in and being able to relax with you," Matt answered. "I think you need to chill out more."

Mello tossed the book to the floor, pulled the chocolate from his mouth, and rolled over to prop himself on his elbows and face Matt. "What do you mean, I need to chill out more?!" he demanded.

"You're always busy," elaborated Matt. "You hardly ever just take time to stay home and do nothing, right?"

"I don't have time to do nothing! I have school and I have work. And anyway, I couldn't do nothing if I wanted to. It would drive me stir-crazy. Learning is how I relax."

"It's good for the mind, the body, and the soul," Matt taunted. "Meditation helps reduce the risk of heart disease, and with your temper..." He clicked his tongue with a grin.

"Shut the fuck up." Mello stood up.

"You're a workaholic."

"Well you're a lazy bum!" He kicked the air.

It was silent between them for a few minutes, the only sound in the room coming from the driving game, until Matt asked, "Mello, do you take drugs?"

Mello shot a glare in his direction, but Matt wasn't looking away from the television to see it. "What?" he snapped.

"You know, to stay awake when you study and shit."

"I don't need drugs to keep me awake when I study."

"How about when you work? To keep yourself perky, for the customers." Matt released a puff of smoke.

"Why do you bring it up, anyway?"

"Geez, you're so tense," Matt sighed, exasperated. "I'm not accusing you, just asking. Because you're always too high-strung. You know, when I first met you, you looked about ready to bite off one of my fingers. Either crazy, or high as fuck."

Mello mumbled. "Sometimes." Matt turned to look up at him. A little louder, he repeated, "Sometimes I take drugs to stay alert. Okay?"

Matt cocked his head, signaling for Mello to walk in his direction. "Come 'ere." Mello walked closer, and Matt turned toward the TV again. Mello gave him a weak kick to the lower back. Matt said, "Sit down."

Mello sat, and quickly Matt finished his level and saved, pressing buttons in rapid sequence without pausing to read anything. He turned off the console. Matt's hands were strong and Mello's shoulders were stiff. As Matt massaged the blonde, he was understandably happy for those gamer's hands. He made groans of satisfaction and occasionally of pain, and Matt smiled softly, irrationally pleased that he was the reason that Mello was making those noises. He tried not to let it turn him on, but those attempts failed, so when Mello loudly purred, "Right there... ohh..." Matt leaned in to kiss at Mello's neck and wrap his arms around his waist.

Mello stayed in Matt's apartment for another week, except for a couple times when Mello went next door to get something from his apartment and Matt followed him, and they ended up staying the night. It did feel better with Matt there, but it was still a little strange, as though they shouldn't be there. He was seriously considering moving in with Matt. The only problem was the smoke. It wasn't too bad, but it plugged up his sinuses and dried his throat. When he mentioned it to Matt, he opened the window and took his cigarette outside, ignoring the convention of apology (though, nor had Mello really asked him to do anything about it). Still, Mello realized, it was a step in the right direction, since Mello was sure that the previous week he would have simply told him to leave if he didn't like Matt's habits. Matt wouldn't be ordered around like a dog, but he was warming up to Mello. The next time Mello stepped through the threshold of his own apartment, it already felt empty.

Matt came home from S&S to find Mello pulling the zebra print couch out into the hallway. "What are you doing with that ugly thing?" he asked.

Mello looked up, his expression serious. "I'm moving in with you."

Matt bristled, protesting, "You can't just move in with somebody without asking them first!"

"Why the hell not? We've been living together for the past week!" Mello stomped his foot. That man was awfully violent toward inanimate objects, Matt realized.

"Because, Mello, I have a system, and while staying with you has been nice and all, you disrupt that system." Matt opened his door and entered.

Mello followed him, leaving the sofa halfway out in the hallway. "So just adjust your system!" said Mello. "You've already started! Anyway, it's easier for both of us. I'll pay half your rent."

"Mello!" Matt's voice boomed through the room and the hall.

The blonde stopped, his eyes big with surprise. Should he feel threatened? Was the dog biting back? "What?"

Matt's shoulders and posture relaxed. "Come here and kiss me and I'll think about it." Mello smiled, relieved, and did so. "Now get that stupid couch in here."

Together they rearranged the furniture to make room for the couch and the bookshelves. The crucifix went on the wall above the television. Now they had a bed, sofa, small table, two chairs, and two bookshelves, as well as Matt's small entertainment center. They found that Matt's bed was bigger than Mello's, just as Matt suspected, so there was no point in keeping Mello's old mattress. Matt helped Mello to take the old bed down the stairs. "You know," he began, "I had a dream about this stairwell. It looks completely different."

Mello laughed. "Were you going up the stairs or down them?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Up the stairs," replied Matt.

"Cool." The turn off the stairs was awkward while carrying the mattress, but eventually they were able to get it out the door and take it to the curb. "So what happened in the dream?" Mello persisted. "Or do you want to keep it secret?"

Matt smirked. "We made out." Mello just laughed and kissed him lightly. "Don't want to?"

Mello looked at him sentimentally. "Matt," he said, as though speaking to a child, "sometimes there comes a point at which one person has had enough new and interesting."


End file.
